Tingling
by Little Lathril
Summary: The Hound escorts Sansa to her chambers after Joffrey shows her Ned's head on a spike. Oneshot. Critique requested!


This is a little drabble I wrote, taking place after the tv version of the scene where Joffrey makes Sansa look at her father's severed head. I'm not sure how I feel about it, though I think I kept Sansa and Sandor in character fairly well.

Tell me what you think!

* * *

><p>Sansa stood alone on the bridge, her lip stinging as fresh blood beaded to the surface where Ser Meryn had struck her. Her eyes filled with angry tears as they found their way to her father's severed head again, as if drawn to it by some dark force.<p>

The sound of heavy footsteps, cut through her grim reverie and a shadow loomed over her. Sansa turned slowly to see that the Hound had returned.

"Do you want it back after all?" She asked, offering him the blood-speckled handkerchief that he had used to clean her lip.

"I told you, you'll be needing it again. Keep it." He replied gruffly. "The king has commanded me to see you to your quarters."

Sansa 's gazed dropped to her feet. Sandor Clegane terrified her with his ravaged face, rough manners and barely contained contempt for the world around him. "Yes, ser."

"How many times must I tell you, girl. I am no ser." Clegane spat. His voice softened ever so slightly as he continued. "Come along child. I don't have all day."

Sansa followed him away from the macabre display Joffrey had 'gifted' her with sullenly, dabbing at her lip where it had split. "It was kind of you to offer me your handkerchief. Thankyou." She said, realising that the Hound was watching her ministrations. He grunted and looked away.

"Save your pretty little courtesies for them as want to hear them, girl." Clegane responded, his usual scowl deepening. Sansa glared at her feet. _I'm not _girl_. I have a name. And I still have a title. _She thought fiercely. She thought it best to keep that to herself, though. The Hound had been gentle enough with her so far, but the gods only knew how long it would take before he became as cruel towards her as his master.

They walked on in silence, Sansa doing her best to keep Clegane out of her field of vision, to imagine that she was returning to her quarters on her own whim, rather than by order of her Prince. A shudder ran through her as she caught herself using that term in her thoughts.

_He is not my sweet, gentle prince. He is cruel, and a liar. I hate him. I hate them all. I hope they all die like they killed father. And Septa Mordane, and Jory, and..._

"What dark little songs are you singing to yourself, little bird?" The Hound's gravelly voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"I wasn't singing anything." Sansa replied, a little too quickly.

Clegane laughed harshly. "You'll have to learn to lie better than that, or Ser Meryn's backhand will seem like a lover's caress." He stopped abruptly and grasped her arm, pulling her around to face him. Sansa cringed and fixed her gaze on the clasp of his cloak; anything to avoid his terrible face. He seemed on the verge of speaking, but then he let her go and grunted.

"Are you so afraid of me that you can't even look at my face?" He snorted in disgust and walked on, faster now. Even with her long legs, Sansa had to walk much faster than was ladylike to keep up with him.

By the time they reached the door to Sansa's rooms, the silence between the two was so deep and tense that it was almost tangible. For all the pain and confusion that she was feeling, and all her fear of the man at her side, Sansa felt a strange burst of shame at her behaviour towards him. He had stepped in and tended to her hurts after Ser Meryn had hit her, and she had repaid his kindness with sullenness and abominable manners.

The Hound opened her door for her and waited impatiently for her to step through.

"Thankyou for escorting me to my quarters. And for your kind treatment of me earlier today." She said hesitantly. It didn't seem enough though, to say the words while staring at a chipped spot in the doorframe.

Sandor Clegane began to bark some gruff, expletive-laden reply, but she startled him into silence by looking up at his face, directly into his eyes, and reaching up to brush his scarred cheek with her fingertips, before hurriedly slipping through her door and shutting it between them.

Once inside, she leaned her back against the door and breathed heavily, eyes wide. She stared at her fingers, tingling where they had brushed the gnarled skin of his burned cheek. "Why did I touch him?" She whispered to herself, half fascinated, half disgusted.

On the other side of the door, Sandor Clegane propped himself against the wall with one hand, staring blankly at the stones before him.

"Seven hells" He swore fiercely. "I need a drink."


End file.
